Cast Into Light
by Jack Motley
Summary: Set in the Wrath of the Lich King expansion era, one Blood Elf has lost everything dear to him. Setting out on a perverted path of the Light in pursuit of vengeance, will the fire of his hatred help or destroy him?
1. Chapter 1

You, who have taken from me my love. You, who have defiled my home and my memories. You, arrogant and foolish enough to allow me this continued, wretched existence. I know you're out there, past these placid walls, across the great waters, and across the stars.

I will find you. I will hunt you down with an unforgiving, unmerciful vengeance across gaps made miniscule compared to the enormity of my seething hatred for you. And when I catch up to you, marched over a smoldering trail laid thick by the remains of everyone and everything you ever held dear, I will lay you to the ground with such a force, that by all that is unholy, I shall strike the world irreparably in two; so that you shall know, and the world shall know, the depths of my fury.

 **Chapter One:**

Once upon a better time, long since departed, I could find welcome comfort in a long night's rest. A chance to sleep and to dream; a means to retire from the drudges of the true world lay just outside a home's warm walls, behind the veil of closed eyes, lost within the sheets of a soft bed and within the embrace of an even softer love. The promise of a new day met with fresh eyes just on the other side of a serene, ethereal gap of floating consciousness

Now, as I awaken to my last, painfully bright morning within the unwelcome walls of the Sunspire, I find only relief that the necessary journey through the shadowy world of wailing nightmares is at an end, for now.

My wounds have healed enough to go back out into the world. A world made strange, twisted and dangerous in the years I have spent in the shadow recesses of my mind. The Sunspire's residents speak of how animate dead, uncontrolled magic and warmongering demons abound. There are rumors of a great betrayal amongst our kind, and of excursions to other worlds and continents in pursuit of great artifacts and even greater foes.

As I look out upon the land from the Sunspire's front walkway, I look out onto an island as testament to my people's arrogance and complacency: the Sunwell, source of our needless magic addiction, destroyed by the very same armies of undead who scoured away my former life's joy. All around this chaotic island, creatures of magic roam unchained and undisciplined, severed from bonds of demonic magic we have all so foolishly consumed and grown reliant upon to satiate our addictions and egos.

As I step out from under the shade of the Sunspire, and out into the bright sun, I steel myself for the act of making myself useful to those who had looked after me during my long recovery. It would be the least I could do, and an opportunity to stretch my legs and regain my strength.

Magistrix Erona, a blonde, short-tailed haired Blood Elf mage, greeted me upon my reemergence into the greater world, "Good morning, sunshine," she said with a smarmy grin, "You're looking better. How are you feeling?"

I was in no mood for her. I was never in any mood for her. She grated on my nerves with the grace of a jagged knife. "I have had worse days," I said as diplomatically as possible.

"Indeed you have," she agreed in the most frustrating manner, "Heard you're leaving us, though?" Erona tilted her head at me, eying me like a puzzle. "Couldn't imagine why."

I barely contained a smirk. "Do not think me ungrateful. I intend to repay the debt for the care and patience you all have showed me."

"Good. Because there's a fair bit of work needs doing around the tower. Hope all that training you've nearly ripped open your old wounds for over the last few weeks taught you something. The Blood Knights tell me you have some real talent. Prior experience, perhaps?"

"Perhaps."

"I don't know what I was expecting…" She mutters to herself, and then turns back to me, handing me sheets of paper scribbled with various scripts of eloquence. Each one marked by a requester's name, with requests to visit said requesters that stacked tall and heavy in my hands, making me feel like a carpenter with a sword for a hammer, and nails made of squealing flesh and blood.

I listened to each request with due attentiveness. Erona went first, telling me again the story I already knew about the unstable demonic energy crystals scattered around the island, fueling control over the native creatures, and how said creatures caused trouble for the island's residents without the crystal's controlling stability. The other requests were more or less similar: the creatures were uncontrollable, and must die. At least Erona made an excuse out of collecting the native lynxes' collars, to try and once more exert control over their own once slaved creations. Some of the other requests bordered on laziness, or just plain fear, and may the Gods render no help to those who fear what they cannot control.

I did not necessarily agree in the killings, but I owed a debt I could not consciously leave the island until I repaid. What they asked was reasonable enough I could withhold my resignations until it was over, and would in turn hand back over onto those whose woes each belonged.

During my cold culling of the native lynxes, I saw a pair of lynxes, an adult and a cub, prowling together amongst the lush grass behind the Sunspire tower. I could not bring myself to raise my hand against them. Such a bond was far more sacred than any petty concerns over magic and control. I wished the lynxes happiness devoid of me, and carried onwards, embroiling myself further than I would like in the concerns of the Sunspire.

One request above all agitated me, from one of Magistrix Erona's friends, who concerned himself over an 'enemy of the people' occupying an old school not far from the Sunspire, proclaiming him a 'threat'. The Blood Elf, one of many they called, Wretched, Erona's friend claimed would not learn control, and had long ago fallen into the depths of full and irreversible magical addiction and corruption.

I did not approve, and told the naïve Blood Elf in so many words, "He refused to learn control? Control from whom; himself? That is his right, and his choice, and perhaps the wisest one, for your control trying to mold him into your idea most likely made him the pitiful thing he is today. I'll pass on involving myself in this social squabble. I do not care for your 'peoples' politics that much." I turned away from him, and made my way back to Erona to let her know there were some requests I simply would not fill.

"That's fine," she said, "Lanthan will be disappointed, but he does not know you like I do. I'm sure some other eager soul will happily come along and do the deed—in the name of our people, of course."

"I'm sure," I half-heartedly agreed.

She let out a long sigh and looked at me weird. "You really are leaving, aren't you?"

I let the flat look on my face and the statures of my body answer for me.

She raised a long golden eyebrow at me. "I'm kind of going to miss you; kind of like I miss magic voids."

"I'm sure I feel likewise."

She smirked. "Charming, as usual, Cindy," she said, calling me by the pet she knew I disliked. My name is, Cyndori. I no longer claim the surname of my deceased family. "Alright, then, I won't stop you. You've done enough for us, already. You should come back sometime, you know. The place is growing, and you'll always have your cot, and me, of course."

"Can't wait for the homecoming. It should be a real joy."

"Just get your pessimistic butt of here, Cindy," she said with a smile edged with sadness. "You should go looking for the Farstriders down south, along the road, if you're heading that way. We've received word they need a little help, if you feel so inclined to grace them with your enlightening presence on your journey to wherever."

I managed a small smile for Erona, not wanting to leave on too sour of a note, and turned away from the Sunspire. I wasn't too sure where I would go from there, or even which way to pivot my foot on the ground as I set one step out onto the soft grass outside the Sunspire, and then another, and then another, until I could at least be far away from this accursed isle of apathy, boredom and isolation. For there isn't much in this life I am truly sure of, save for this one absolute truth I held in my heart and soul as I walked away from Erona and my home of the past few years: that, that one step forward, was one step drawn closer to those who have wronged me, and the unswerving day I would finally exorcise my demons upon them all.


	2. Chapter 2

The path is not long, but wounds and twists off the imperfect cobble road meandering downhill to the river below. As I arrive, around the hill's bend, I stop full at a sight that stills the fire in my heart, and briefly flutters a glint of hope within the dark turmoil inside. An intact bridge of perfect, unblemished stone spans the gentle river, and beyond that, lay the great fortress entrance to Dawning Lane; its gates raised, the spires and towers stood tall. Just through them, I feel, is Silvermoon—the home of my people, safe and preserved behind this awe-inspiring fortification.

However, not all is as I dare hope. An Outrunner, couriers for our people, stands to the side of the road next to a broken-wheeled wagon, staring at my approach with reserved curiosity. I remember what Magistrix Erona made mention of, and stop out of what I can only think of as mutual curiosity to the plight of such unenviable, but necessary individuals. Her tale is a simple one: an Outrunner has gone missing down Dawning Lane, and the Wretched are perhaps to blame.

"Wretched?" I ask. "In our Silvermoon? Has this problem become so widespread?"

She stares at me with cold, green eyes. The look on her face tells a story beyond the need for words, and I feel the frozen dagger once more jab into my spine, knowing I do not want to know, but asking anyways. Pain is pain, and pain only grows stronger once ignored.

"Go see for yourself," she says, her words bitter, "If you find our Outrunner, tell her…she's late." Our eyes meet for a moment, but she looks away, turning her back to tend to her broken wagon. I turn away without a word, leaving her to her job.

Dawning Lane lies just beyond the raised gate ahead. I leave the upset Outrunner to brood, understanding the emotion, if not the reason, and walk up the cobbled path, crossing under the high gates, and through to the other side. Dumbstruck by the sight of what truly lay upon the other side of what now seems a cruel façade; I turn my head slow, taking in the grim ruins of the city I once knew. Where there were once great architects and magical beauty, now exists only their cruel ghosts: buildings cracked and broken, violated by maddened, arcane machinations and bent-over creatures lumbering no better than undead Scourge. The statues of our heroes are leaning on the verge of falling, while others lie in shattered pieces as testament to the ruination's inevitable conclusion. Dawning Lane cuts through it all; a straight and bright path through the gloom our Silvermoon has become. Upon the lane, I sense the stir of magic, and know that it beckons as beacon the unfortunate traveler through the decrepit city.

Not all travelers have made it across the lane, however. I look down; my eyes drawn to as many morbid sights as can be perceived by mortal eyes, and see the crumpled and bloody body of a young female. A lone blade rests by her feet, and an untouched package held with a deathly grip to her chest, tells me I have found the unfortunate Outrunner.

I lean down to check for a pulse, but she is long gone from this world. Bruises and long, coagulated slash wounds that look the work of animal claws cover her exposed flesh. I care not to control the disappointed growl that is my reaction to this deed. I do not know this Outrunner's name or life, but a daughter, perhaps a girlfriend or wife of someone, she was, and for that and the cruel nature of her death, she had my sympathy.

I pry the package from the Outrunner's rigor arms, and realize I am not alone. The grass and scrub brush move, and from the shadows come gangly, pale-skinned creatures making cruel mockery of what was once my own race: Wretched.

I stand up slow, sword in hand. "So, you are the foul things responsible for this, are you?"

The Wretched groan and creak; their tight-skinned faces stretch in an individual variety of pain or glee as the group of eight surrounds me. Their weapons: splintered pieces of wood and jagged pieces of metal held with a thug's lack of grace, and in as many grips as novices know.

I stand over the Outrunner's body with my sword raised straight and steady. "Be warned, I do not harbor interests for your problems or your ethics, Wretched, but you raise your stained claws against me, against the remnants and memories of my defiled city, and I shall destroy you without compassion, pity or remorse." I point my sword at the biggest one. "Depart or die. There shall be no compromise for you."

They choose the latter, and I care nothing either way, striking down the biggest one through the long stick he chose as his weapon. The Wretched lumber along, awkward, with little balance, and I slaughter them to the last.

I catch the last one around the neck as his intestines and kettles of blood spill onto the ground, holding him up from his fall. I look into those dim eyes, and see agony, fear and a hunger unquenchable even in the throes of death. "Did you kill this girl?" I demand of him, but between spurts of blood filling from his throat and mouth, he cannot speak. "Shake your head, yes or no. Did you kill this girl?" He shakes his head, croaking on his own vital fluids. "I would not forgive you, anyways." I twist my wrist and snap his neck, letting him crumple to the ground.

The Outrunner enjoys company in death, but I do not let it last. I gather her blade and package, placing them upon her body. I pick her up in my arms and carry her body to the Outrunner on the other side of the gate, who receives the young girl's corpse with shock and a poorly hidden tinge of sorrow.

I leave the Outrunner to her unfortunate task, but I take the package. "Where does this go? I shall finish her last mission."

Her friend does not register my question for a minute, staring at the corpse. I clear my throat, and she turns her head back enough to look at me, and answers the question I know she heard the first time. "An easy route…to Falconwing Square, that's what I thought, at least." She turns her head back to the corpse. "Is the lane no longer safe…? Why did this have to happen…? Why did you die…?" She shakes her head back and forth slow, lost to the world in a gray fog of shock—impenetrable and familiar to me.

The Outrunner mumbles incoherently to no one, and I leave her be. Package in hand, down Dawning Lane, through the ruins of my city, laying a cobbled road of Wretched bodies, slicken by their blood, I travel onwards.


End file.
